I smile uneasily and feel temptation creep in.  I am glad her friends are not as drunk.  This kind of girl is a cabby’s worst nightmare I’ve been told; all wine and roses in the evening, lawsuits and subpoenas in the morning. 

“Listen Cabbie; just get us back to the hotel.” One of the other girls snips at me.

The snip goes in like pliers squeezing my side. “Oh so you think you know me because I drive a cab.  So what does that mean about me that I drive a cab?” 

“I think you are Mr. Cab Driver from the Lenny Kravitz song.” She tells me.

“But that song is negative.”

“Exactly” She replies.

I take a deep breath and push a little harder on the accelerator.  A moment later I can’t help myself.

“You know what,” my voice is a little raised, “I don’t do anything illegal in this cab and I had to have a background check to drive it.”

“OK cabby man.” She snips back with sarcasm.

I can see her reporting to the hotel how the cab driver was rude to her and how he tried to take advantage of her severely drunken friend.

Drunk-Girl continues to pursue.

“Can I get your cab numbers please or your phone’s?” she slurs.

Her friends pull her back as she begins to touch my neck. 

“You’re being ridiculous.” One of them tells her.

“About what?” she responds as her friends push her against the back of the seat.

“About him” Her friend says.

“About who?” asks Drunk-Girl.

Her friend whispers and subtly points to me.

I am reminded the reality of my place and position through their eyes.  If my cab were a Mercedes and I had met them in the bar it would be a different scene.

As I pull up to The Surf’s entrance and the doorman opens the old Crown Vic, the cruel, drunk women fumble their way out and delicately hand me a dirty twenty; I am 10 degrees more lonely but twenty dollars richer, I am grateful.

It’s still a half hour before closing and my stomach is empty and rumbling.  I return to my curbside seat in front of The Bird.  The other sharks have eaten well tonight and the crowd out front has thinned.  My hopes for the hundred dollar dream fare and the resulting good night’s sleep are diminished.  I close my eyes as the late night A.M. radio considers alien abductions, conspiracy behind gas prices and the under skin chip.   I think of my loved ones; all asleep in their beds, snuggling spouses or friends or stuffed animals and wish I could join them in the sweet realm of dreamy sleep; but the weekly is due and I am many dollars short; and so I drive into the night hoping for a decent flag or a profitable call.  This night, sleep becomes a decadent luxury I cannot purchase.